


The mind of madness

by MoonTearChild



Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Blowjobs technically, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22333951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonTearChild/pseuds/MoonTearChild
Summary: During his time as a Vicar in the OSI, Max had never questioned his teachings - including the law of celibacy.But now he's no longer a vicar.
Kudos: 7





	The mind of madness

A lot had been on Max's mind lately, ever since the hermit on Scylla had provided him with a life altering drug trip, he had been unable to stop thinking. It was clearer than anything his faith had been irreparably shaken - he was a new man. It was now more than ever he had been pondering the ways in which his life had been shaped, and what had led him to this point. 

Thinking about his life in that small town, raised by humble labourers, to discover the joy the Architect and its Law brought to his family, he understands this is his beginning. Or perhaps that occurred before he was born? Either way, Max thinks. He thinks of the OSI, about his time within their schools, learning and shaping his mind despite his parents wishes, and stops along the way to question if there's a single belief he was taught under that roof that he still believes in. His finger traces the spiral etched carefully into his desk, humming as he paces through his thoughts and memories with the weight of the wall comfortably against his right arm. Never before had his life taken such a radical change - and rather amused - he breathed a laugh to himself, quiet and reserved, he guessed this must be his midlife crisis. There were worse things that could happen to a man, he supposed, although denouncing his lifelong faith and job in order to join the crew of a spacefaring captain was certainly  _ unique _ . Not many could boast the same feat. 

His wandering mind takes him next to his time on Tartarus, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck pricking uncomfortably. Eventually, he had come to terms with the sentence he had served, not only as a vicar, but as a prisoner too. He denied this fact no longer, and began the arduous task of sorting through the residual emotions from his time locked up. He had not been wrong when he spoke his mind about the heretical texts, he was certain of that now; it was the OSI that was wrong. His so called mistake cost him a large portion of his life, cast away into the depths of what could quite possibly be considered the worst place on Halcyon, just because he had dared to question the order of things within the colony. 

His conscience was clear, and his beliefs were more secure than they had ever been, but still, he was only human. He wished for unwavered composure, wished he had never developed the crook of his nose from his carelessness playing tossball in prison, but most pressingly - he wished to stop his mind from dipping into thoughts of carnal pleasure when he tried to focus on the meaning of existence. The OSI had forbade their preachers from practicing in ' _ earthly temptations _ ' as they called it, saying it was simply part of the plan that they should abstain, and Max hadn't even questioned it. Too many nights he had spent searching for the universal equation, not ever allowing his composure to break when his body was not cooperating. Just a cold shower, then back to his work. There was no room for distractions.

But now… 

He plays with the lining of his vestments, feeling the rich fabric between his thumb and forefinger with a shaking breath. He had denounced his faith, he no longer agreed with the teachings of the OSI, but yet people still called him vicar. It felt foreign to him to hold such a title, but yet he continued to wear the robes of a man ordained. But what else would he wear? For as long as he had called himself a man, he had worn these robes, his vestments are a part of him he cannot seem to shake. He wears a skin that is not his, one he cannot shed. 

Max reminds himself of his train of thought, about his captain and his crew and how far he's come from the town of Edgewater, how much he has grown and developed through the short months since it had all began and smiles. 

The crew… Filled with interesting people, and yet, one in particular caught his eye especially. A certain ex-dockworker with a mean drop kick springs to mind, making the man freeze up in uncertainty. His relationship with Felix had been rather strained at first, filled with the tension of butting heads over religion, politics and tossball scores, but now it had shifted. Max recalled the look on the younger man's face when he had eventually apologised, and held it fondly in his mind. It was a sort of curious, reluctant happiness that quirked the corner of his lips and brought a light to those puppy dog eyes. Oh how that moment had brought him pride - the fact he had finally grown to admit his flaws and began towards the path of true enlightenment (and not because that smile had made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn in a way that made him uncomfortable). 

Max shifts, lifting his hands to tug at the collar of his cassock before undoing the top two buttons, skin hot from the thick material draped over his form. His mind begins to wander once more, to forbidden thoughts which, in all technicality, are no longer forbidden to him as he is not under the constraints of the OSI. But still, he chastises himself for his immaturity; these thoughts had been plaguing him more and more as of late, and it was growing unbearable - ideas that distracted his mind and body as he attempted to meditate, leaving him more tense than when he had started. It had even gotten so severe that it had begun to impact on his sleep, and he was sure that his captain would begin to notice his altered state. 

"Fuck." He curses to himself, the word feeling strange on his tongue - after all, he found himself hardly swearing these days. His own body impatient, his fingers played with the remaining clasped buttons on his vestments, teasing them open before he can really react, and when he does, he goes along with it, curious to see where it would take him. He shifts the soft fabric up and over his head, messing up his carefully gelled hair as he does so and revealing the plain white shirt underneath. Max swallows thickly as he shifts in the seat, toeing off his shoes and letting his left hand stray down his torso. The fingers graze over the hardened muscle of his chest to the slightly more forgiving softness of his stomach, testing the waters of the skin just above his belt that had become exposed when he moved. His breath catches in the back of his throat, and he notices the fabric of his slacks becomes noticeably tighter, his body encouraging him to continue. It's here he pauses, hesitant to oblige himself in such an indulgence he had never partook in before; his skin reddens and he swallows nervously. Inch by inch he lets his hand slide down, cupping himself with a gasp sucked between his teeth when he bucks up into the pressure. His hand is so warm he can feel it through the material of his clothes, and his skin tingles with electricity, eyes shut and jaw clenched. "Law!" His voice cracks, rolling his hips up again into the hold and a fine sheen of sweat drips down his forehead. His quarters felt so unbelievably hot, so stifling he cannot help but ruck up his shirt to expose his stomach, trailing a hand over the hair that leads down below his navel before hastily moving to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a thunk. His hands snap the button of his trousers open, fingers digging into the generous flesh of his own thighs in his rush to pull the fabric off his legs until he's exposed to the open air. His cock is red, shining in the warm lamp hung above his head as precum dribbled down from the tip, twitching in invitation to continue. Eagerly, he brings a hand to his mouth and spits into his palm, (an action that in any other circumstance he would most definitely find disgusting) wrapping his fingers around his length and hissing at the feeling it gives him. Adrenaline surges in his ribcage, and he feels like he's fighting a mantiqueen as his cock throbs in his fist, he gives it an experimental tug and the growl he lets out is purely sinful. Max wastes no time in fucking up into his hand, squeezing the head of his dick for every drop of precum he can give, and soon, the wet sound of him jerking off reverberates around the room, topped only by the gasps and moans he tries to stifle behind his lips to no avail. He closes his eyes, and lets his thoughts wander freely, remembering the day the ship was so hot Felix had came down to breakfast without a shirt, only loose sweatpants that clung to his hips in the right places that showed to Max's watchful eyes he had neglected to wear underwear. The line of Felix's dick was so tantalising, he almost wanted to drop to his knees right there and beg for it, and so he imagined that. The rest of the crew that was there on that day was forgotten, and Max imagines himself falling to his knees on the dirty common room floor in front of Felix, mouthing at the material while the man smirked down at him, running a hand through his hair and ruining the smoothness of it to tug at it firmly. He imagines himself lowering those pesky sleep pants and laying eyes on what the former dock worker was sporting, licking his lips and taking it into his mouth with a moan. 

Max gasps as the pleasure is taken to a new level, running his free hand through his hair, now disheveled from his sweating, and tugs it between his fingers, a husky moan escaping his mouth as he envisions Felix's hands instead of his own. He longs for those plush lips to wrap around his cock, those beautiful eyes looking up at him as his mouth works magic and suddenly it's hard to breathe, his hips stutter, and Max throws back his head in bliss as his orgasm pulls him under. He swears between gasps and growls, sounding more like a canid than a man as he covers his hand in his cum, wishing it was his crew member's pretty face, and the thought nearly makes him hard all over again. He swallows, throat dry, only to find his voice was strained and nearly absent. Max falls boneless back onto the chair as his cock softens, breathing heavily as waves of tiredness wash over him, and so he stands (nearly falling over in the process) and lets himself fall into his bunk. He barely has time to pull the sheets over himself before he's unconscious, still sweating and covered in his own mess.


End file.
